He understood what that meant.
“You don’t want him knowing the bigger picture.”
“I don’t want him knowing how ugly this gets,” I said.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Slate said, “Too late, Prez. He grew up in it. That kid knows.”
Yeah.
But not this.
“Watch the roads,” I said. “Anything feels off, you call me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ended the call and sat there for a long moment, staring at my desk.
There were papers stacked in neat piles. Inventory lists. Route schedules. A report Grim had dropped off about our last run.
All normal.
All predictable.
And none of it mattered as much as the fact that an omega was asleep in my bed and my men were already starting to treat him like he was wearing my mark.
I didn’t give a damn about gossip.
But I gave a damn about him.
A knock sounded.
“Come in.”
Wraith opened the door.
He looked like he always did, too calm, too clean in his movements, like chaos didn’t touch him even when it was chewing on everybody else.
“Morning,” he said.
“Is it?” I replied.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed.
Then he smiled. Just a little.
“You slept?” he asked.
I stared at him. “What do you want?”
Wraith’s smile widened. “So you didn’t.”
“Say what you came to say.”
He pushed off the door and walked in, slow. His gaze flicked briefly to the couch, like he was clocking if I’d been out here. Then he looked back at me.
Wraith tilted his head. “So about the cut you put on him yesterday?—”
